


Saturdays Off

by FreshBrains



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Cats, F/F, Flirting, Humor, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 12:18:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3650082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh, no, I’m not really a cat person,” Andrea said fruitlessly, sighing as the ball of fluff ambled nimbly over the crosshatching of the hammock and right on top of Andrea’s magazine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saturdays Off

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a list of fanfic AU's from Tumblr user [tea-and-outer-space](http://tea-and-outer-space.tumblr.com/post/99399784683/aus). I used the prompt: _you’re the crazy cat person next door and your cats keep on wandering into my yard au_.

Andrea didn’t ask for much on her days off.  After spending all week in the courtroom or office, all she wanted on a Saturday afternoon was to lounge in her hammock in her tiny backyard with a tall glass of iced tea, the recent issue of _Cosmo_ , and the latest installment of _Serial_ all queued up and ready to go on her iPhone.

But right as she relaxed into the soft net with a sigh, tea glass already sweating in her hand, she looked up at the low branch of her gumbo-limbo tree to see a tiny black-and-white face peering down at her.

“Hello,” she said awkwardly, folding her magazine over her lap.  “And where did you come from, little guy?”

The kitten meowed pleasantly, white paws kneading at the bark, and began his way down the trunk on sharp kitty claws.  “Oh, no, I’m not really a cat person,” Andrea said fruitlessly, sighing as the ball of fluff ambled nimbly over the crosshatching of the hammock and right on top of Andrea’s magazine. 

“Climb aboard,” Andrea grumbled, scratching him behind his ears.  He purred, obviously used to being spoiled, and Andrea touched the metal tag on his collar.  “ _Hitchcock_ ,” Andrea read out loud.  “Stupid name.  Where are you from, Hitchcock?”

Andrea didn’t know why she expected an answer.  The cat just rolled onto its side and went to sleep, oblivious to Andrea’s much-needed time with her makeup tips and cool drink.  She just rolled her eyes and plugged in her iPod—at least the cat couldn’t get in the way of her crime podcasts.

Half an episode in and Andrea was getting nice and toasty from the sun through the tree branches, her tea half-drunk and her eyes sliding shut.  Hitchcock curled into a ball next to her hip and though she’d never admit it, she appreciated his small, warm weight.  But as sleep crept up on her, her ear-bud was suddenly yanked out of her ear, sending her iPhone tumbling into the dry grass.

“ _Shit_ ,” she said, startling up from the hammock.  Hitchcock made a moue of distaste but only adjusted himself to her upright position.  Andrea looked down at the grass, eyes adjusting to the light, to see a fat orange tabby looking up at her with damp green eyes, her ear-bud cord in its mouth.

“Who the hell are _you_?” she snapped, completely willing to accept one stray cat into the fenced-in sanctuary of her tiny yard but ready to put her foot down at two.  Especially ones that didn’t respect personal iPhone space.

“Damn it, Picasso,” a woman’s stern voice said from over the fence, the metallic latch jiggling.  A tall black woman with dreadlocks and a gorgeous orange and red sundress came into the yard, feet bare, an open can of tuna in her hand.  “I knew I’d find you a yard away with your nose in someone else’s business.”

“Is this one yours, too?” Andrea picked up Hitchcock in cupped hands.

The woman’s eyes brightened and she grinned.  Andrea felt her face warm (she always loved a woman with a nice smile) but she just blamed it on the afternoon sun.  “There’s my little guy!  I haven’t seen him for a day, thank you so much.” 

“He sort of found _me_ , really.  He’s sweet,” Andrea said awkwardly, rarely extending affection to such dramatic, temperamental animals.  “You’ve got quite the naming system.”

“I’m a _Psycho_ fan,” the woman said, setting the can of tuna on the ground.  Picasso immediately dug his face into the treat.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Andrea said dryly, but the woman just smiled, nuzzling Hitchcock’s soft fur.

“I’m Michonne,” the woman said, nodding towards the house next door.  “My son Andre and I just moved in last month.  This is the first time I’ve seen you home, actually.”

“Andrea,” she said and stood to shake Michonne’s hand, stepping gingerly around Picasso, who wound irritatingly around her legs in lazy figure-eights after his snack.  “I’m a lawyer.  I don’t spend too much time at home.”  Her modest split-level suburban house was more of a resting point than anything.  “How old is your son?”

“He just turned three,” Michonne said proudly.  “His Uncle Terry took him out today for a guy’s afternoon.  I’ve been painting in my studio since noon and I just realized Picasso snuck out again.”

“You’re an artist?” Andrea probably could’ve guessed as much, from her aptly-named cat to the smudges of blue and green paint on her hands.

“That’s one of the reasons I moved her.  I have a gallery downtown now.”  Her eyes shone with pride, and Andrea thought about how she never met anyone who exuded such serenity before, such happiness with the world.  She knew _she_ didn’t.  “My first show is in September.”

“And…what does your husband do?” Andrea reached out to pet Hitchcock, avoiding Michonne’s eyes.

“My _ex-_ husband is an artist, too,” Michonne said without bitterness.  “Too much creativity in one family, I suppose.”

“You need to balance it out,” Andrea said.

“Maybe I need an accountant,” Michonne joked, smiling.  “Or a lawyer.”

Andrea couldn’t help but laugh out loud.  At least they were both terrible at flirting.  “I know you probably have to get these two home, but if you’d like to stop by later, I can make some more iced tea.”

Michonne smiled softly, lugging Picasso up in her free arm.  “I’d like that very much, Andrea.  I’ll bring the Jeremiah Weed.”  She walked towards the gate, jostling both cats like babies, something Andrea found oddly endearing.

“You do that,” Andrea laughed, settling back into her hammock and untangling her ear-buds.  “And Michonne?”

Michonne glanced back, cats settled snugly in her arms.

“Hitchcock and Picasso are welcome in the yard anytime.”

Michonne gave her one last gorgeous smile before nudging the gate open with her hip and returning to her yard.

Andrea dug back into her magazine, ready to soak in the last of the afternoon’s warmth.  Saturday really was the best day of the week.


End file.
